I read about Angelo da Fonseca last night, after I noticed this painting on Mujib's wall.  A fascinating life.  Did the people in the 1954 painting escape to safety from love-jihad's lout detectors?

( Read more... )

At the writing course where I show my face, I gave this prompt:  Remember an incident which made you feel small, and write about it focusing on other selves that might have been in play in that moment. This was what I  wrote.

Okay once I had a break up and it was like this. For months we didn’t talk, and then her uncle and aunt from UK were visiting ( Read more... )

i don't got no yellow car

i don't got no chest hair

i don't got no song

no gold gong

no suit of lights

no gilded gun

no girl in nets

no posse control

i don't know i want

to  be you

or that girl with the honey hips

i don't know, and i got nothing

to say to shake that ass, shake that ass,

except rock in my chair

and wait for chance

to bring me your ( Read more... )

Spent the morning prepping two biggish pots for some sprouters. One of them from the seed of what is known as a Sugarbaby in Bangalore. And two Custard Apple thingies that seemed eager to leave the poor seeds  behind and be their own beings.

Sleep is coming to me, But I didn't ask for it.

Rooibos is sometimes the answer to this nonsense.

You're never down.

Au contraire. When your grave is an invisible moving thing, up and down don't matter that much.

Au contraire. When your grave is an invisible moving thing with a mouth and no hurry to get anywhere, and your foot is in its teeth, you're crawling away, there's no time for saying anything, just the speed of that mouth, the sureness ( Read more... )

It is evening always,

when I get here.

It might rain,

you might leave.

I can't complain.

I'm the one who chose

to get here.  How nice

it would be if my here

self was there. They

could be their

self, and I

wouldn't be here,

this hair self writing this.

If Sisyphus gets

a postcard ever,

it will be from me

and it will have one line:

Is it evening ( Read more... )

If you’ve never seen a virtual lying-in-state, it might be a good idea to get over to the quarter of YouTube that is reserved for clips of ‘song-and-dance sequences from South Indian films’-to borrow the gloss that Bangalore newspapers used for programmes named Chitramala and Chitrageethe in the Stone Age of television.

People file past several ( Read more... )

Who put the tuber in Aktuber?

Who cares? Tubers or bulbs or rounds in the mud have many earthly uses.

Just now, as I tried to walk 3000 paces while my belly droops indecorously like a dog that doesn't want all this going outdoors,

at this quiet midnight hour violated only by other dogs asserting ancestral barking rights, or cops yelling your ( Read more... )

I have not got religion yet, but I have found a full wondrous site wherein I am makynge eiȝen at a text moste venerabile and passynge easy on the soule.

This is the Bible that Wycliffe tried to put together in ordinary English--or Middle English as historians would have it today.  His God fascinates me, for he is a most untheological creature. Or ( Read more... )

YouTube was new in 2006, and I felt adventurous one day.

So I looked for a name that I knew only by association, with Paul Simon, and because it was from Paul Simon’s Rhythm of the Saints that I knew it, I knew it only as an interesting middle-middle noise.

The search threw up a modest list and the first two or three were that traditional con-job ( Read more... )